from her own notepad.
“In the future you must bring your textbooks and notepads to every class. Regarding textbooks …” Portnov unlocked a wooden cabinet and took out a stack of books. “Samokhina, give these to your classmates.”
Sasha, an eternal straight-A student, got up before she had time to be surprised. Even the most intelligent teacher usually required a few days to memorize the first and last names of his students. Portnov memorized everyone’s name from the first try; or did he pay special attention to Sasha?
She accepted a heavy stack of books that smelled like an old library. The books looked identical and not very new. Sasha walked through the auditorium, placing two books on each desk.
The cover had an abstract pattern of colored blocks. Black letters folded into two words: “Textual Module.” Underneath was a large number “1.”
“Do not open the books,” said Portnov quietly, before one of the first years curiously lifted the cover.
Hands jerked back. Again, silence prevailed. Sasha placed the last two books on the desk she shared with Kostya and sat down.
“Attention, students,” continued Portnov just as softly. “You are at the beginning of a journey, during which all of your strength will be required. Physical and mental. What we will be studying is not for everyone. Not everyone can handle what this does to a person. You have been carefully selected, and you all have what it takes to make that journey successfully. Our science does not tolerate weakness and takes cruel revenge on laziness, on cowardice, and on the most infinitesimal attempt to avoid learning the entire curriculum. Is that understood?”
The fly threw itself at the glass for the last time and fell limply on the windowsill.
“To everyone who puts their best effort into the process of learning and does his or her absolute best, I will guarantee: by the time the process is completed, these students will be alive and well. However, negligence and indifference bring students to a sorry end. An extremely sorry end. Understood?”
A hand flew up to the left of Sasha.
“Yes, Pavlenko,” said Portnov without looking.
Lisa got up, convulsively tugging on her skirt.
“You see, no one asked our opinion when we were sent here,” her voice trembled.
“And?” Portnov looked at her with interest.
“But can you expect us … Request that we study so hard … if we don’t want to?” Lisa tried hard not to allow her voice to squeal.
“Yes, we can,” Portnov stated lightly. “When a toddler is being potty-trained, no one asks his or her opinion, right?”
Lisa remained standing for a moment, and then sat down. Portnov’s answer took her aback. She wasn’t the only one. Sasha and Kostya exchanged glances.
“Let us continue,” went on Portnov, as if the interruption didn’t particularly faze him. “You are Group A of the first year. I will be your Specialty professor, responsible for lectures on theory and individual studies. With each new semester, your work will get more complex, and other special subjects will be added. I want you to understand that Physical Education is considered one of the primary subjects in your curriculum. Do remember that. Aside from that, during the first semester you will be studying Philosophy, History, English, and Mathematics. Most of you were good students, so it will be enough to simply do your homework in those subjects. The situation with Specialty is different. It will be difficult. Especially in the beginning.”
“You’ve already put the fear of God into us,” someone said from the back row.
“Hand, Kovtun—first get your hand up, then share your thought. In the future, a breach of discipline results in an extra Specialty assignment.”
Silence.
“Good. We have gotten through the introduction. Let’s begin. Kozhennikov, do me a favor: take the chalk and draw a horizontal line on the blackboard.”
“In the middle?” Kostya specified.
Portnov glanced askance at him over the glasses. Kostya shrugged, looked down, picked up the chalk, and carefully drew a straight line from one edge of the blackboard to the other.
“Thank you, you may sit down. Class, look at the board. What is it?”
“Horizon,” said Sasha.
“Perhaps. What else?”
“A stretched rope,” Lisa suggested.
“A dead worm, view from the top!” Igor Kovtun quipped.
Portnov smirked. He picked up the chalk and drew a butterfly in the top part of the blackboard. Underneath, below the horizontal line, he drew another butterfly, just like the first one, but in a dashed line.
“What is that?”
“A butterfly.”
“A swallowtail.”
“A cabbage white!”
“Projection,” Sasha said after a short pause.
Portnov glanced at her with interest.
“Very good. Samokhina, what is projection?”
“It’s an image of an object on a flat surface. Reflection. Shadow.”
“Come here.”
Sasha disentangled herself from her desk clumsily. Rather unceremoniously, Portnov grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face the group. Sasha glimpsed a surprised look on Yulia Goldman’s face, a slightly contemptuous one on Lisa’s, a curious one on Andrey Korotkov’s; in the next second, a black scarf descended upon her face, and darkness came.
Somebody gave a nervous giggle.
“Samokhina, what do you see?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
Sasha paused, afraid of making a mistake.
“Nothing. Darkness.”
“Does it mean you are blind?”
“No.” Sasha was offended. “It’s just if you cover a person’s eyes, the person won’t be able to see.”
The audience was by now laughing openly.
“Attention, students,” Portnov said drily. “In reality, each one of you is in the same situation as Samokhina. You are blind. You stare into the darkness.”
The giggling subsided.
“The world, as you see it, is not real. And the way you imagine it—it does not even come close. Certain things seem obvious to you, but they simply do not exist.”
“And you, do you not exist?” Sasha couldn’t help herself. “Are you not real?”
Portnov removed the scarf from her face. Under his gaze, she blinked confusedly.
“I exist,” he said seriously. “But I am not at all what you think.”
And, leaving Sasha standing there in a state of complete shock, he crumpled the scarf into a little ball and threw it carelessly on his desk.
“Samokhina, you may sit down. Let’s continue.”
Sasha held up her hand. The hand trembled, but Sasha continued to hold it stubbornly. Portnov half-closed his eyes and said, “What now?”
“I wanted to ask. What are you going to teach us? What specialty? And who are we going to be when we graduate?”
An approving whisper fluttered through the audience.
“I am going to give you a notion of how the world is structured,” Portnov explained, with a huge emphasis on his alleged leniency. “And, what is even